Those little rituals

The first time I saw them, their interaction was friendly, social. They looked happy, and it made me smile. The second time I saw them, it was exactly like the first time. It seemed odd.  The same loud laugh, the same handshake, and the same excitement. When I saw them yet again, a third time, I realized that the interaction was a daily ritual. Maybe a weekly ritual, I don't really know.

The train sounded its annoyingly loud horn as it came to a halt. People queued up by the doors, careful not to push, and climbed down the stairs one by one. The passengers getting on and off the train were quite a crowd - most rushing to their cars or their pick-ups, others hurriedly boarding. Some, who had the extra few seconds, noticed them. The short and stout man wearing a hat and sunglasses stood by the bench at the end of the platform.  He yelled in excitement, and waved to the stationary train. From the very front of the train, from a very high compartment, a second taller man, probably the engineer on-board, opened a door. He descended two steps and with one arm holding onto the door, he flung the other out, to share a strong boyish handshake with the man who waved. They both shared a loud laugh. The second taller man then climbed back in, the train announced its departure with the blaring horn again, and left. The man on the platform, childishly ecstatic, watched as the train pulled out, still waving.

They could be old friends. They could be related. For all I know, they could have known each other all their lives. But in my head, they are perfect strangers. Perfect strangers who by some inexplicable way  have gotten into the habit of greeting each other, and sharing a few seconds of loud and obvious happiness. Maybe that right there, is a perfect relationship.

Of course that was a fleeting thought, and once I walked past them, I quickly got distracted by the lovely cherry blossoms, and the traffic view on my phone. However, today, while I drove back home, almost gliding on the highway at a single pace, the sunset on one side, the new spring flowers on the other, I thought about little rituals - the ones you keep, and the ones you miss. Like sending post-cards from across the world. Like buttered toast with honey and cinnamon on Saturday mornings. Like leaving a co-worker a 'happy Friday' note every single Friday. Like greeting each other every evening with a fresh shortbread cookie :)

 My family and friends have embraced my obsession for the colour green for long, and gifts in green have sort of become a little ritual. Thanks Niv for the wonderful handmade green bookmark! And of course, the book - I flipped through it, and it looks like a dream. I can't wait to read it, but at the same time, I never want to be done with it :)

Yours "sprezzatura"ly
signing off...

The forgotten song

I'm cheating this time. This one's a mix of a lot of previous ones. I wrote it a while back (or compiled it, maybe) and thought I should put it up. But mostly, its something that came out of a re-visit to the soul stirring Confluence of Elements by Bombay Jayashri.

....................................................................................................................

...sounds like dew drops in the morning...

She heard an echo inside her head and opened her eyes. It was still pitch dark. The sound of moving vehicles filled her ears. She had moved into a house near the highway and soon got used to the noise. But what about the silence inside her? Was she getting used to that too? She didn’t want to think about it. She sat up and opened her eyes wider. They pierced the darkness and looked ahead into...nothingness - an empty room, empty walls, and empty shelves, all reflecting her emptiness. She did not want to think of that either. She opened her window and stared up into the heavens. The clouds were moving lazily, engulfing the stars with their transparent greyness, and the wind was swishing swiftly, as if beckoning the drizzle to join it on a mysterious odyssey. It all looked like some sort of celestial dance to music she couldn’t really hear. She thought she was being teased by the forces of nature. She closed her eyes, and her face remained tilted towards the open skies, as if she were awaiting the return of the breeze. She thought she could finally hear the music...the melancholies of broken promises and broken hearts, of unwritten poems and unsung songs.

...sounds like dew drops in the morning...

The words hit her again, this time with a fresh dose of nostalgia, of happier times, when there was music in place of the silence. She could not lose herself to music anymore. In fact, she could not lose herself to anything other than the abyss of silence and emptiness within her. She picked up her bag and reached for the little present Vedha had given her. ‘Listen to it,’ she had said, her eyes full of concern. She looked at it for the first time. Confluence of Elements, the title read, with a picture of the singer Bombay Jayashri Ramnath looking so admirably peaceful with the tambura in her hands. It was her that Vedha had described a long time ago as having a voice like dew drops in the morning. ‘No wonder my mind kept bringing the words back,’ she thought. She didn’t believe this could do anything, but she thought she might try. Just for her friend.

Jagadhodharana...She let the music play and walked to the balcony. She recognised the Kapi raagam which would have instantly called to her some time ago, but today, she felt nothing. She heard the beautiful voice and the contemporary music, so different from the traditional instruments used for Carnatic music, she thought. Moments into the music she found her mind wandering into the shadows of the past, like the divine tune was mere background music in the stage of her life. She found it amusing, that nothing pulled her heart’s strings anymore. Was she all stone now? She wondered. The notes from the strings of the Sarangi reached her ears, bringing with them beats from a Tabla and a tune from the flute, so light, she thought it could be floating. She felt so full of her of emptiness, it was overflowing. Slowly, she found herself rising and falling with the notes...like waves in her ocean of voids. She heard it now, like a revelation brought to her by the breeze... Purandhara Vitalana the voice was singing. There was a sudden power in the immensely soulful voice that was claiming her undivided attention...pulling her towards it...demanding that she doesn’t ignore it. She didn’t understand the lyrics, but she could feel the chills running down her spine; she had to hold on to something to stop her hands from trembling.

Now there she was listening like never before; the piano, the guitar and the mesmerising voice that was singing her pain, her heart-wrenching pain. She felt a little less solid, like melting butter... a little less composed and a little more tranquil at the same time. She was running madly through a maze, and could finally find her way out... The whole world was in a swirl, and there she could finally witness the dance of life...a slow dance, in perfect harmony with everything, waltzing its way to the inner core of her very being. And somewhere within the enticing force that was music, there was surrender...there was rapture...there was a feeling of being consumed by the unknown, and a desire never to return. And a thousand heartbreaks burst out in a single tear, which remained in her eye for a moment, glistening, making the stars twinkle more than usual. She let it roll down and take with it a sea of despair...all her pain... all that made her deaf to music...all the silence that consumed her...like that single tear just drenched her and cleansed every bit of her disturbed soul. Every note she heard was a part of a beautiful story...was an escape from what had been...was ethereal glue that brought broken pieces together...was her truth revealing itself...was a realm of almost-attainable liberation. Moksham.

The music eventually stopped playing. She stared into the rising sun which was sincerely painting the skies fiery shades of orange and pink...she smiled. She was back from what felt like a journey. She thought of life, its blacks and whites, and its more prominent greys...isn’t life like a musical composition? It has its ascending portions and its descending portions, its high notes and its low notes, its flat notes and its flowery notes... and each one of them comes, and goes, giving way to other notes because if they don’t, there cannot be a musical piece. And at the end, what stays with us is not a single note, but the song itself, to which every note counts...

She walked into the kitchen and threw some tea leaves into hot water. She felt strangely serene, mildly inspired. She could still hear the pleading tones of the Sarangi, they were tugging at her heart. She found herself humming a song in the Kapi raagam while she brought the cup up to her mouth and sipped her tea. It smelled of hope.

Yours "block!" ly

Signing off....

Within

They had shared a peculiar bond. One which was, but was not. One which had lulled its way into her life many a time, remained silent, lurking, suddenly appearing around the corner. They had walked together through the dark shadow, and another, and another... but when all was bright, sunny and happy, they knew it would become fickle again. One of them would depart, and they would forget each other, only to be thrown together again amidst the next dark shadow. But who sought who?

She looked for him sometimes, when he vanished. But she forgot. It was easy to forget, and get busy with other mundane things. It was easier now than it was a few years back. She had the power to beckon him, to question him, to hold his hand, or let him hold hers. That is how it used to be. But now she had come too far, or so she thought. He had walked away voluntarily. She had let him go, voluntarily. But why didn't she look for him? She waited for the shadows. The shadows had always brought him back. But the shadows came and danced around her, changed the air and slowed her down. She walked on, tried not to succumb. She walked alone, without him. She fought the shadows, without him. She left the shadows behind, without him. And then she reached the bright, sunny and happy place, and as it would be, she forgot about him. Forgot that he hadn't been there this time.

She went so close to him sometimes, but he still wasn't there. She matched his smile with hers, but he had something more hidden behind those eyes. Was he teasing her? Refusing to acknowledge her? Why was he so evasive?

She stared at the trees outside her window - leafless branches perched on a pale white background, a clouded sky. The stillness smelled of his absence. She saw him everywhere, but he was nowhere. She wondered how long this separation would last. Could she live the rest of her life without him? Would she have to? What could she do if he chose to stay away?

But what if she was getting it all wrong? Maybe she was hiding from him. Maybe he couldn't find her. Maybe he was waiting for her too. Maybe she wasn't looking in the right places. Maybe she had to let herself go, stop thinking, stop searching, stop questioning...

She sat cross legged on the floor. A tea cup beside her. She imagined she could hear the sound of the tambura being played in a single pitch, repeatedly. It was a familiar sound. Perhaps, the most relaxing sound. She sipped her tea slowly. This time, it tasted of sweet hope. She sat up straight, closed her eyes, and began to sing...

Kannan mugam marandhu ponaal, indha kangal irandu payan unndo?

Yours "Find it. keep it."ly
Signing off...

Chapters

So much has changed, without much changing. I have moved on, with parts of me still hanging behind. Here and there. Everywhere.

You never really leave a place. You never really leave people. You never really forget anything entirely. You have left chunks of yourself all over, at different cities you lived in, with different people, that it is sometimes impossible to just be at one place, with one person, even though you actually are. Of course it is all inside the head. But isn't that enough sometimes? Because memories are flawless. Because memories don't really change, even if the people in them do. Because they remain... and sometimes they're so lucid, so alive, that they seem more real than the real, truer than the truth. And that is what sometimes makes it impossible to listen to some song without thinking of a person...without being transported to another place and time.

I meant to write about so many things during my little Australian odyssey. Not the big life-changing happenings. The little things. The ones I will forget in a few months. Never got around to it. Even though I can remember vividly even now, the lone violin player I saw seated on a bench under a tree by the road while I was riding the bus...as if it were a scene out of a movie - the music in my ears substituting for the notes I couldn't hear come out of his violin. Watching smokers outside No.12 Creek street, a work culture that seemed so different from lab research! Almost like I could feel the pressure of the people bustling to work just by watching them. So much like Tokyo was, a few days later. The joy of cooking. Walking on Park road so many times with Niv, staring at the pricey restaurants we never ended up eating at. Weekly Soccer. Endless...

So today we toast to significant and not-so-significant memories. To finished chapters of never-ending stories. To the smiles and laughter that were, and will be. To new beginnings. To change. To dilemmas, ever so puzzling. To the unknown future, and the people who have walked and are walking with us towards it.

Chapters...that's what they are.

Yours "In another life, but not really" ly
Signing off...

Enna solli Azhaithaal, Varuvaayo?

I will always remember...

• That walkman by his ear, singing to him in all intensity, the panthuvarali ragam...and many other ragams, the depth of which I will never understand the way he did...such love for carnatic music.
  
• His unfailing faith...a gift not many are blessed with...
• The three stripes of grey vibuthi eternally on his forehead...
• His love for coffee, and rasam made with the apt amount of perungaayam...
• His teethy smile...
• His willingness to be photographed! No fusses about wearing santa caps or birthday hats for the picture... just that smile, time and again...
• His childish excitement, each time he wore a new shirt...The way he squeezed the oil out of a vaazhakaai bajji using a dinamalar newspaper, claiming it absorbs much better than the english newspapers!
• His Mandira bedi and Kareena Kapoor fancy!
• His hilarious comments on every actor and politician...like he was the representative of 'tea-kadai-bench' for Upasana!
• His everyday NDTV profit stock market checks...
• How he spoke to me about a particular part of a book again and again, each time sounding like he was telling me about it for the first time...
• His stories from travels around south india, and the awesome food he ate back then - Oru dosai, Oru Kaapi :)
• How he was so bad at Maths...he managed to score in geometry, but hated algebra...and always talked about the 'maadu mekara' problem, where he had to calculate the circumfrence of a field based on the distance a cow tethered to a post walked around it!
• The million times he mentioned that Paati got more marks than him in 12th std!
• His love for Badam Halwa, and digestive biscuits... plain milk chocolate and little bits of velam...
• Dining table conversations with him, and the brothers...about how they're all meant to marry only Iyers, Iyengars or Rao's! :)
• His absolute non-necessity for the air-conditioning...! And his claims about feeling cold under the fan in the hot Chennai weather!
• His tech-saviness! Good enough to read gossip on 'kumudam reporter' on the internet!
• Him being paranoid about locking the house every night!
• Him closing his mouth with his hand saying 'vaai ilaa poochi' after passing some mocking comment about someone, or after saying something not entirely appropriate about the taste of the food at the table! Aah... an everyday act which always called for laughter, and attempts to provoke him to say more, much to Paati's wrath!
• His rare attempt to help in cooking! Which went as far as holding the dosai thiruppi...and once, somewhere close to chopping spinach!
• His idea of getting rid of the 'bangu' notes first! (the 10Rs bills that were torn and old!)
• His wonderful knack of never forcing an issue...never imposing his opinion...or giving his advice... unless he thinks it is called for...
• The influence he has had in 8 very important years of my life...

S. Arunachalam Iyer. My grandfather. The best thatha ever... I cannot describe what exactly thinking of him reminds me of... partly awe for the way he lived his life, and influenced others around him...admiration...smiles...and the lingering sadness, that all we have of him now are these thoughts and some photographs...But even now, I can hear the echo of his voice... of him calling Paati 'Thaaye'...saying his usual 'Ramaa nannu brovara'...trying to sing a part of some Maharajapuram Santhanam Aalaapanai... Upasana will never be the same. We will never be the same...Love you forever. And so the breeze shall sing your song... and we shall reminisce. Cry. Smile. And live on...

Say a little prayer for you...

Kulir Mazhai Kaakka kudai piditha Giridhari...Enna solli Azhaithaal, varuvayo?

Yours "Sarvogya, Brahmarpanamasthu" ly
Signing off...

Melancholy...and Endless-ness

For a long time now, I have believed that I belong to the category of people who are easily vanquished by the sadness in a song, a book or a movie... rather than the happiness. Sometimes, it almost feels like the happiness imparted by a medium like that is fleeting, but the sadness is not. The sadness tugs at your sleeve, throws an invisible blanket around your heart, leaves you staring into nothingness through misty eyes...and eventually, remains in your mind with that big sigh you heave in that long breath. Its like a melancholic breeze...that lingers...that follows you.

Most of mankind has been designed to constantly adapt. How else do we deal with loss? With change? How else do we live on? That's why we learn to get comfortable...to embrace the unexpected...to find happiness in what we have, and be thankful for it. That's why we have the ability to see layers of complexity in an issue sometimes, but smile at the real simplicity of it all, some other time. And so it shall be, that the people we know, and love, will remain both our lucid waters, and our unsolvable puzzles... and this was beautifully depicted in two movies, in very different ways.

Aniruddha Roy Chowdry's Antaheen and Aparna Sen's The Japanese Wife. The only two Bengali movies I have watched till date... both telling stories of relationships...and how their complexity, or the absence of it, can depend solely on the people involved.

Antaheen, set in the backdrop of busy (or not-so-busy) lives in a city, beautifully depicts a scenario alot of people may be able to relate to today... an outward facade of acceptance, with an inherent knowledge that one is in denial...is living a farce. The Japanese wife is like an intricate painting of life in different shades of grey...each brush stroke depicting helplessness and poverty...and yet, amazing simplicity. It is mildly teasing to realise the striking similarities amidst all the differences. One movie depicts marriage as a complex web of perspectives...and misunderstandings...the answer being separation. The second movie on the other hand portrays how simple a marriage could be, if all that matters is an understanding, and all that is required is an acknowledgement. The first movie outlines the complexity of relationships through a young couple conversing through the internet, clearly in love, hesitating to reveal their identities or their feelings to each other, for the fear of losing it all... while the second movie asserts the possible simplicity of relationships by telling a story of two people who for sheer love, marry each other through letters, and remain so till the end. However, both movies tell of endless waits...for love. And how sometimes we wait a tad too long... and its all gone.

In Antaheen, the melancholy is of people... caught in the web of their thoughts. In Aparna Sen's brave, independent outside... and an inside yearning to go back to her separated husband, who now portrays himself to be cynical and bitter... In Sharmila Tagore's life of singlehood, brought about by phone conversations that suddenly stopped... In Rahul Bose's and Radhika Apte's solace in strangers...In the orange kite, stuck in the antenna... In the wait, that almost ended... but didn't. In the sad truth that life goes on... and if we wait too long, we learn to live with the losses...and the memories the breeze brings.

In the Japanese wife, the melancholy is three fold. There's poverty, helplessness, and... people. There's melancholy in the beauty of the Matla river...and in its unfortunate potential for destruction...there's melancholy in the simplicity of the marriage that binds two quiet, shy people... In a widow's attempt to conceal her beauty, her feelings, her fears... In a poor man's quest to cure the cancer eating his wife...a wife he has never laid eyes on...There's melancholy in the Japanese woman clad in a white saree, holding a white umbrella, showing the world her shaved head...her symbol of devotion to her dead husband... the one she loved, and lived to see... but as fate would have it, never saw. Melancholy... in the japanese kites flying high in the blue indian skies... In a pair of hand-knitted socks that imparted snug happiness...

Thus continues my endless liking for such movies... some melancholy...some bitter-sweet-ness... some smiles... but finally, a blank stare... an irony... a realisation that everything... is personal.

Ajo ache gopon, Pherari mon…
Beje gechhe kakhon, Se telephone…

(The wild escaping mind is still concealed...
When has that telephone ever rung?)

Ps: Please feel free to correct that Bengali translation... I got it off the net :)

Yours " Class...."ly
Signing off...

Saffron

I read somewhere that the mark of a good book is that it changes every time you read it. I do not know if the same can be said for movies. Some movies drag you back to them, repeatedly, mostly the funny ones, the feel-good ones. Then, there are the other movies, that you do not want to watch more than once. You do not want the impact the movie had on you to change because you have changed. But when you do end up watching a movie like that again, and when you realise that it hits you the same way as it did a few years back, it is an inexplicable feeling...of awe.

I give you Rang De Basanti. Revelations. Causes. Bouts of happiness, all through with a mild undercurrent of poignancy. And eventually, a sad smile, and a lonely tear.

I have read too many posts in the recent past about Rahman's genius, about how he is god, and about how he's always experimenting. So, I shall refrain from talking about him as such. But what his music does to this movie...is something else.

The goosebumps start at Tu bin Bataye. The perfect setting to make anyone yearn for a bunch of friends like that...to make any girl wish she had the look Sonia has in her eyes with her perfect man...to make one wish he/she was throwing leaves down at the happy couple with the rest of the gang. The song is as dream-like as reality can get... floaty bliss... you can't stop smiling at these young people who want to do nothing other than be in each other's company, and savor small nothings in life. Yet at the end of it, when you see seven blurry figures lost in their own world walking arms-around-shoulders into that sunset...your heart grows heavier, and you know that what is easily the happiest moment of the movie, is, but a classic calm before the storm. Mishri ki dali, zindagi ho chali...

Rahman then gives us Luka Chuppi. Prasoon Joshi gives us Luka Chuppi. As if the music of the second half was meant to compete with that of the first half. Wonderfully portrayed. The indian flag folded, and the pistol-shots into the sky...the teary-eyed faces sobbing through the smoke...the white...the devasted mother, hollow eyed, with loss etched all over her face, almost collapsing at the sight of her dead son's trunk...the girl, having lost the man she was meant to marry, pulls out a picture of both of them from his diary...

Kya bataoon maa kahan hoon main, Yahaan udney ko mere khula aasmaan hai...

And then there is fire, burning hard in the eyes of those that care...those who want justice...those that for the first time in their lives, have a cause to believe in, and fight for. Khoon chala adds to the shivers...with the candles and the crowd, the unreasonable assault on believers and the blood shed...and most of all, with each trying to protect the other.

When I watched this movie for the first time, almost 4 years back, one line stayed in my head for a very long time. Sonia's 'Maar dalo...'. And so she said the words... and as friends avenging the death of the best man they ever knew, they found their justice in murder.

And they do not stop there. They tell their fellow citizens what they did, and why they did it. They throw themselves out in the open, ready to face anything, having fulfilled their purpose. And what better than the ascending notes of Robaroo to wrap up the elation neatly? Again, Prasoon Joshi's lyrics can't get better. He says it all by saying so little... DJ dropping his gun in finality, Karan's pain-filled expression relieved in that first hug, and as he looks into DJ's eyes at suraj ko mein nigal gaya...Laxman breaking into tears while hugging Aslam at wo loha tha pighal gaya... beautifully crafted scene, like the director did not want to waste a single word from the song...so carefully overlayed... Sheer brilliance.

And then comes the end... as they die one by one...and we're left with nothing but the echoes of their laughter in our ears. And they walk together from the lush green field into the white light... Its over. They fought for their cause...and in their heads, they won. And how! And you...are left staring at the titles, wondering what really hit you...

I said nothing about the over-lapping freedom struggle portion of this movie...the clever screenplay...and how each one of these students become the character they enact for Su's documentary. It seems so seamlessly done... one could go on and on.

I love this movie more than I did before. I love the music, more than most of Rahman's other albums. Maybe that's because the songs have been stitched so well into the script, that when you listen to them, you are instantly reminded of how the actual scence made you feel, and you love it even more. The simplicity of the lyrics complements every song, every scene...it just makes one so happy to see such good effort, such meticulous balancing...such genius in cinema...and nonetheless, what we always ache for - Inspiration.

Paint it Saffron.

Yours "Chaaya liya bhali dhoop yahaan hai..."ly
Signing off...

Arziyaan

When music fails to reach the depth of your being...and your ears refuse to acknowledge the sweet song of the breeze...close your eyes. And let me be your melody, in all silence...in all blackness.

When shadows of the bygones seem to jeer at you from the sidelines...and ambiguity of the forthcoming leaves an abominable splash of despair in your perturbed skies...Let me be your rainbow...your dash of colour. Your hope.

When questions swallow you into their whirlwind of complexity...and answers fancy eloping on the chariots of elusion... Let me be your momentary lapse of reason. Your flash of nothingness, that changes it all.

When yesterday is long gone, and tomorrow has finally come...when the spark has returned, and your need to see the light overcomes your fear to let the hidden flame flare...lock in that aching embrace. And let me be that single tear at the corner of your eye. Let me be the memory that will slowly fade.

When you're strolling along your familiar pathway at dusk...and the rays from the west make those silver streaks gleam crimson and yellow ... lift your eyes to that sunset. And let me be your sigh. Let me be your smile. Let me be the reflection of that horizon, stealing daylight from all around...only to give you a sky of sparkling stars.

When the river of hope has been quenched in all ruthlessness...or when serenity surrounds you like a warm blanket of content...look up to the stars. And let me be the one that will fall down slowly from the heavens, for you to wish upon. Let me be the promise. Let me be the love. Let me be...the end.


Arziyaan saari main,
Chehre pe likh ke laaya hoon,
Tum se kya maangu main,
Tum khud hi samajh lo...


Yours "Daraarein Daraarein hain maathe pe maula..."ly
Signing off...

The Eye of the...

From where comes this sudden calm...? One wonders, if the storm now tired of raging, decided to fade away...or the waters lay still, awaiting the wildest of tempests. And the unnatural tranquility persists... in the unstirring air...in the soundless night...in the languid glimmer of the crescent moon...in the lone red star surrounded by a galaxy of white sparkling stars... in the single line that stands right out of a beautiful song... in the simplicity of a melody, that sounded unreasonably complex before the calm...always reflecting the mind.

Why comes this clarity...? Only when boundaries are stretched...only when the mind is disillusioned into futile pursuits...only when vestiges of pledges to the self, allure, but mockingly...only when the horizon beckons, full of promises never to be...promises a tad too late...a tad too early.

With what comes this new found hope? With the aching truth of the words that came from the believer's mouth...or the guarded embrace that brought a myriad of heartbreaks out into that fateful lament...or the finality of an almost lost cause?

Now what? Does the gamble continue to let that see-saw see all means of parallelism? Is it going to be a yes, or a no, or is it going to be much more? Does the breeze blow one way, and make you sway...and sway...and sway? Is that assymetrical slant going to light up all the silver, or blur it all out? Is 'poetry' just not in the equation anymore? If the seeds don't grow, and the ship doesn't stow, should the river still flow where the current goes? And will the river banks hold on in all patience?

Poetry...feeling it. Wanting it. Cherishing it. Welcoming it. Embracing it. And holding on to it, for time everlasting.

No fair trade...

Songs for the moment - Aaromale.

Kalalenaa...kanneerena...?

Yours "Did they get you to trade... your heroes for ghosts?"ly
Signing off...

This is it...

Its been a year and a half, since I last felt this amazing impossibility to open my eyes in the morning, sleeping in the smallest room of Upasana... the place that still strangely still feels closest to being 'home'...a year and a half since I was in Chennai. Singara Chennai.

So there I was...riding my good old scooty,(Basanti 'reloaded' as it was lovingly named by good old friends), in the narrow streets of Mylapore Tank. One of those streets that are smugly flanked on either side by vegetable sellers, and flower sellers, with pedestrians everywhere, making you wonder if the road was built for cars at all...and then a huge toyota innova comfortably zooms past you, with a continuous honk...and you open your eyes wide, half-expecting to see blood on the road as a result of some traumatic accident...but all's good, and you will never understand how. But coming back to the point - we were on a scooty riding on this road, and suddenly, in the middle of the road, right in the middle of the road, we see this humongous structure made of leaves. This structure... 15 feet tall, and maybe around 7 feet long just stood there on the road, in front of a temple, and all the other million scooties and pulsars made their way around it. What the cars did, I do not know. There it was... total chaos. Bikes all over, pedestrians all over, people building the 'structure' walking to and from the stack of leaves... and my dear brother said the exact words that were in my mind - THIS, can happen only in India. So we rode on, making our way around the 'structure' on the great south mada street, to reach destination: Karpagambal mess. A place I've heard my brother rave about for years! After a breakfast that felt like it would keep us full for the day we stepped out, my brother complaining about how the standard of the food had come down so totally, and what a shame it was that I hadn't eaten in the place when it was at its yummy best, and what an idiot I was for missing it. Sigh.

Some things never change. Some things might, but I can't even start to explain how glad I am that my relationship with Chennai hasn't changed one bit. I love it for the same reasons I did before, and detest the same things as I did.

Paati's hot-sweet-ginger-tea still has its charm. I don't think any other tea will ever make me feel like her tea does.
The potholes are still horrible, and immensely annoying.
The roads are still dug out just before the rains, and is never covered up, as a result of which one's patiala pants unhappily encounter spots of rich brown slush!
The traffic rules are still changing dynamically, increasing the number of one-ways. I still find it maddening, and want to write a blog post about it each time I'm on the road!
I still sing the same song when I'm on my scooty. I think its been the same for over 2 years now. The humming bit in hey goodbye nanba, follwed by the 2 paragraphs and never the main lines.
Riding on boat club road is still pure bliss...
Street dogs have the same effect on me. I still want to run, and I still think they want to follow me and bite me.
Anantram Periappa's coffee still tastes better than any coffee day or barista coffee.
Suriya sweets vazhaikai bajji is something else. Nothing better in the evenings, no matter how much oil my thatha's dinamalar paper can suck out of it!
Saravanabhavan sambar vadai is still THE thing! I found myself giving my mamas strange looks when they insisted on eating medhu vadai with a spoon in Saravanabhavan. It took me sometime to realise that at our table of 5, i was the only one blissfully using my hands to eat, and it made me strangely happy!
Orange kucchi ice still costs 5Rs. It has, for the last i-don't-know-how-many years!

And I could go on...

But some things have changed...
Someone cut down the awesome gulmohar tree outside our balcony when I was away... I might have pulled off a 'chipko' if I was here!
Suriya sweets now has a separate stall for bajjis and puffs and weird buns. For some reason, I'm just not able to accept it!
Raniamma went back to thirupathi. I miss her. I dreamed of her. twice. I was wondering if I might go looking for her someday!
My pin-up board is EMPTY. Sigh.
Aunty closed her shop :( Now I have no idea where to find the second best corn florentine in the city! And I blame it on aunty that Nidhee and I haven't had a date yet!
I've just started to realise tha pains of jewellery shopping. I sincerely wish this shall be the last time I would have to do it, even though it is the first! Maybe I'll save this for another post!

I love Chennai. Just being here...the spirit of it. I know I'll come back someday...to stay.

For some reason... I'm going to dedicate this post to Sukanya Venkataraman. Maybe there are some vague reasons... For what she did today. And for giving me the most excited welcome I've had. Suk, I can't even start to explain how it felt to open that box. I swear, if it came to Aus, i'd have cried for a very long time. Thank you. I instinctively wanted to give you one long hug... I let it pass. So here's your lost hug - <3 :) Plus you'd told me not to touch you ;) Lol... Love you! And, I'm going to keep up my post card promise. Maybe not once a month, but atleast now and then.



Yours "Sorgame endraalum..."ly
Signing off...

Up-Bringing

“Its all in the upbringing...” I’d hear people say...all around me. And slowly, I started believing it as well... and I would find myself passing comments like “a well brought-up kid!”. Sheesh, wonder how old one can rightfully be to pass comments like that ;) Thank heavens there aren’t such restrictions! I can almost hear a number of people I know saying “molachu moonu yelai vidala, adhukula pesara pecha paaru!” But coming back to the point, or trying not to lose perspective (!), I think I did, and I still do believe that a large part of one’s personality is directly or indirectly related to how he/she has been brought up... in most cases, directly. In my case, definitely, directly.

Maybe I’m thinking about this because of the exponential rise in my watching TV shows (fiction, and true life stories) on how a child’s “growing-up” environment affects the mental state, and what sort conditions result in serial killers and psychopaths (sigh, this, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when you haven’t watched TV for over a year, and are suddenly re-introduced to it! The madness, I tell you, is very amusing!). Apart from realising how nice it is to have some form of entertainment, its made me feel...lucky. I think at some point, its important for us to reflect upon how smooth things have actually been, relative to so many other people’s lives... so maybe sometimes, we should stop thinking about our share of problems (which I should say, each person will always have!) and just be thankful...and say a little prayer.

So, I, for one, could now take a deep breath, and think about my “Rasna-kudumi” days, where I assume, I must have hopped, skipped and jumped around with a fountain-like ponytail emanating from the very centre of my skull, and a flowery frock, frilly and lacy, with a belt fastened in a bow at the back, in an attempt to give a neat appearance. Of course I am currently leaving out the opposite scenario where-in my frock would be gloriously soiled with the belt undone (as my shoe laces are these days!), and my fountain ponytail would be pushed to one side, my arms and feet would be as dirty as could get, and probably, the cherry on the cream would be a dripping nose from a cold...AND I’d run home to ammmmmaaaaaa, crying, with insect bites everywhere, knowing a tad too well that the ultimate question would come any moment – “Mannu la yaaru vilayada sonnadhu?” But the darlings that mothers are, they know what to ignore and what to take care of, and thusly, the crocodile tears shall be promptly ignored, as it could never be more evident that those rivers flowing down the little devil’s cheeks are but a facade to escape reprimands, but the insect bites shall be taken care of with ointment, and if severity persists – Avil! Such were the good old days ;). And such, is the judgement of mothers.

So today, I can think about it all on a day-to-day basis, and smile about it... I can think of all the hours my mom would have spent trying to shove rasam saadam down my throat when i now make rasam... I can think of how I abstained from lemon rice for years together, after the ‘good old days’ when a younger (perhaps, cuter!) me, used to call it ‘elipili saadam’... until Brisbane brought me back to it, in the name of convenience! I can think of the times I first started chopping vegetables to help in the kitchen, and how I still follow those techniques to the tiniest detail, and so many other small things that we don’t pay much attention to...and we hardly ever realise that we do them in that particular way because we were taught that way... and we were taught in such way, and at such a time in our lives, that it just got into our heads and never left... sort of like the person who taught you all that has left a permament imprint in your life, and you take it wherever you go, and it forever reminds you of them.

And then there’s the other side... the way you look at the world, the way you are with people... one’s priorities and things close to heart... one could argue that a large part of such things is determined by your peer group, your mentors, and the likes. Well... I believe it all starts at home... and everything is just a direct or an indirect result of it. Ultimately, wherever in the world you are, that’s where you go back to... family.

So... it IS all in the upbringing, isn’t it?

If you were conscious about the possibility that your actions and reactions reflect upon your upbringing, would you strive to be better? To give back to your parents what they’ve given you? To make them proud when they hear your praises from the world? To allow them to feel a warm glow about having done the right things for you? To give them peace of mind that they did good, and they can now sit back and watch what you do with your kids?

I would. Not because I think its some sort of obligation or duty I have to fulfil... but because I think they deserve the best. And, truly, its not very difficult to make people happy... So, why not do what you can?
So now... i’ll do what I said we should do... say a little prayer, and be thankful...

Happy Birthday amma ...




Yours “Uyirum neeye...Udalum neeye...Uravum neeye, thaaye” ly
Signing off...

and so...

Odum kaalangal...
Udal odum ninaivugal...
Vazhi maarum payanangal...
thodargiradhe...

Signing off...

Greys...and Abstract Revelations

Let me take this opportunity, on this auspicious saturday night, with the sound of moving vehicles filling my ears, and snoring sounds echoing in empty spaces of this huge house...as the clouds engulf the stars with their ethereal greyness, and the winds beckon to the drizzle to join them on their mysterious odyssey...as the sole glowing lamp in this household seemingly blinks at intervals, and as the massive typing of keys dwells in pride for being the only sound that teases the silence...as the air emanating from the sinusoidal breathing of 4 mortals in their blissful state of slumber (and 1 (im)mortal) stirs all stillness and the chill finds comfort on carpets and beds, blankets and spreads...as one mind wanders into non-existent, unlikely, untrodden land and and one heart hesitantly reaches out to a presently unattainable mist of peace...as a pair of eyes long to look beyond that opening in the clouds and a premature thought tricks the mind into fabricating neverland, to chance upon paradise lost...as a face with closed eyes remains half raised towards the open skies awaiting the return of the breeze and as a pair of ears mildly sense the melancholies of promises (un)made..songs (un)sung...whispers (un)said...

To (finally) tell you that... Life, is Beautiful. Life is simple and complex. Life is hazy and clear. Life is definite and ambiguous. Life is true and fake. Life is Treble and Bass. Life is ruthless and giving. Life is real and surreal. Life is a loss and a fairytale. Life is demanding and magnanimous. Life is separation and confluence...Life is confluence... Life is black and white....

But its not... Life... is Grey. The Grey...most prominent, seeming almost permanent. But... its beautiful nonetheless.

A large part of this post goes out to the part of my mind that has been travelling to places unrealised with Confluence of Elements, by Bombay Jaishree. An album so rightly named. Confluence of elements...an element... so abstract. Its true. The album would be a confluence of different things to different people... to me, its just so many things i can't even define. It just seems to bring the whole world in a swirl, making you feel like you're witnessing some kind of dance of life...a slow dance...in perfect harmony with everything...with yourself... waltzing away into the inner core of your being...pleasantly. Beautifully.

Niv said "her voice sounds like dew drops in the morning"... Jess said "She's something else. Her voice has this magic tinge"... so true. One feels utterly hypnotised. In a trance... brought upon by an immensely soulful voice. She sings every song like she means those words to the last syllable, and makes you feel like melting-butter...like what you heard just made you feel slightly less solid...left you slightly less composed...triggered your conscience in an inexplicable way...gave you a combined feeling of tranquility and being-messed-up-in-the-head at the same time...just drove you through your maze, and helped you get out of it...just threw on your heart this invisible blanket of joy and sorrow that makes you want to cry...just swallowed you into itself...like you lost yourself, to the unknown, and you wish it'll never revert back... just inspired you, like never before. Never before...

To Jayashree Ramanathan. Thankyou...for this album...for being the light at the end of the tunnel...for being the rainbow and the pot of gold at the end of it...for being sanity...for being ultimate glowing etherial-ness...for being the realm of almost-reachable liberation...

Mokshamu galada... bhuvilo jeevan muktulu...kani varuluku

Irakkam...varaamal ponadh-enna kaaranam?

Saramathi. Behag. Kaapi.

Yours "Purandhara...vitalana..." ly
Signing off...

Upasana Arattais

Upasana. I associate the word with so many things, its difficult to point a finger at one thing. Maybe I could say it was truly...home. I don't think I've felt more at home anywhere else. And I'm not sure when I'll feel so at home again. Sometimes I wonder what makes it so special... wonder why I felt such a strong belonging, considering the fact that my parents weren't always around... maybe it is because I know that I spent some of the best years of my life there...learnt...grew...evolved as a person...the person I am today...shaped by all the happiness...the laughter...the tears.

But more than that, I think its other small things that tied me to it, and make me yearn for it even today. Ginger-tea evenings, Suriya sweets Vazhakai-bhajji, random conversations with the periya-meesai watchman and the lady who swept the place, sunsets from the terrace, sunday afternoon naps, pep-talks and not-so-pep-talks with so many friends, marathon watching Friends and House M.D., the gulmohar...

But even more than all of that... the arattai sessions! The people... the activity (which was sometimes immensely annoying!), someone forever walking in and out of that door, the door-bell ringing every other minute, the telephone yelling for attention, the television blaring with kolangal music, Paati arguing with Raniamma about drying the clothes when she's doing her 'madi' samayal (!), cable-kaaran paal-kaari wanting money all the time (sort of reminding you that its the beginning of a new month!), a mixture of loud carnatic music and Rahman's beats (and mostly, with the TV yelling as well!), the smell of rasam and kothamalli thogayal... and the sound of people talking. Maamis and aunties, mamas... thatha paati amma... Karthik and Visu. And during 'season' Chitti, Sanjana, Sandhya...

The dining table of that house would be the most entertained being in the world! So enriched with gossip and drama, and once in a while, serious talk, sensible talk ;) Every evening over tea and biscuits (AND thattai, murukku and other norukku!), every night - all the dinner discussions and even other times of the day, random talk! My memory stretched back to the one year my brother stayed in that house, and the million conversations thatha had with him and Karthik on what sort of girls are 'ok' to fall in love with, him justifying his caste specifications with vegetarianism! Each person's legs getting pulled in turns... on to college gossip that Kar and me shared over dinner religiously, each time taking the conversation into the airconditoned room and continuing through the night (or some other philo topic, or otherwise, mosre frequently, on realtionships!) And then Visu filling me in with all the ridiculous happenings of his college, and bringing me up to date with the latest crap-lingo with short forms and long forms! Sigh...

And then there were the numerous conversations with amma, on so many issues! Chopping veggies with her, listening to her complain about my dressing sense (Aal paadhi, aadai paadhi!)...and with Paati, about the future (her kollu perans and pethis!), and the past - her Madurai life...with thatha...on books (repeated discussions about the same part of the same book so many times!), music , and his good old days as an auditor (and the fantastic food he ate - Oru dosai, oru kaapi!)...with Raniamma, about how I should get married ASAP!

Well I guess the good part about Nostaligia is re-living those moments...and putting up posts like this to remember things years down the lane... I know things can never be the same at Upasana... painful as it is to realise, we have indeed grown up. We live in, as my paati would put it "yedhedho moolai"s (corners) of the world, and meeting each other becomes celebration... We thankfully have enough good memories to last a lifetime... to make us smile whenever we think back at those days... when i walk into that house again, I'm sure I'll hear echoes...of laughter, of happiness...of a time that was so beautiful, I'd give anything to have it back again...

Flat No.8, Upasana
Old No.48, New No. 64,
Ist Main road, R.A.Puram
Chennai - 600 028

Yours "Ninaivugal...yendrendrum" ly
Signing off...

Anubhavam. Moksham. Delirium.

Connected, yet so disconnected. Woven in the same web...yet, each an individual strand. Anubhavam, Moksham, Delirium. Three words that have held my interest for way too long now.

This is not the first time this blog claims a mention of my carnatic music classes. Its weird how things change so much with time. Songs that you listened to in passing years back, suddenly seem to hold so much significance...it all depends on what you relate to at different phases of life, doesn't it? I've been learning carnatic music for so many years now..it's been so on and off, i can't even figure out how many years. Maybe 10. But 5, for sure. And now, at this point in life, when I'm no longer on my 3-days-a-week-1.5hours-each classes schedule, is when the beauty of this art has dawned upon my being, entirely. My grandfather would be proud to know that I am now capable of losing myself to this floaty, yet so profound force...and find ultimate solace in it. Satisfaction inexplicable...forgetting the rest of the world...forgetting oneself...being lost in the myriad of feelings something abstract imparts...something that one probably doesn't understand...something that can make its way into the depths of one's psyche with a single variation in tune...something that ultimately pulls you into it so intensely that you feel strangely drunk with it...your head so full of it, that it throbs. And stays. Drunken...with tranquility...with music...with faith...with the mystic force - a divine combination of liberation and surrender...Moksham. Bombay Jaishree's Anubhavam.

Anubhavam. The story comes back a full circle. I have very faint memories of 'Anubhavam' being listened to by my mother over and over again at home in Kenya... the Ngong house... the days when I attended music classes for the sole reason that I was forced to do so...the days I was the stubborn teenager, who even for a minute, wouldn't consider her mother's requests to learn one song and sing it for her. It took me a good 7 years to find that particular memory in my sea of thoughts, and finally comply with my mother's request from years ago... It was the first time I walked up to my music teacher with a song, its lyrics, and said that I want to learn that song, at any cost. And then waited...patiently...for the process to take shape. I don't think I 'felt' any other song more when i was learning it...and when i was convinced that the song was polished enough in my head for my mother to hear it, I recorded it...for the fear of choking if I sang it to her in person... Mother's day, 2007. Bhavayami Gopalabalan. A part of Bombay Jaishree's Anubhavam. Amma's favourite song. It became my prayer. It still is. My prayer. My strength. My tears. My solace.

I never really stopped singing it since the time I learnt it. But rediscovering it in this album...made me dream of amma and me sitting at the dining table at the Ngong house, chopping vegetables, this time, both of us lost in Bhavayami,instead of her alone... I've promised myself I'll make a trip to Kenya just for this...Just to look at her face when she's drowned in the depths of Yamuna-Kalyani...and know exactly what she's going through. Listening to my Brother sing it recently was a differnt experience altogeher...Its like some unfathomable force of nature bound our family to the song... Bhavayami... like the song was destined to change my life in more ways than one.

I've been going through a deliriously intense period with this music. Something at a higher level than addiction... Delirium. Two very different things claim the 'Delirium' tag at this point of time... Carnatic music and...Science. This insane compulsion to keep working even if you feel like it could kill you. This perpetual feeing that you're at the brink of a discovery, even if you aren't...the curiosity...the crazy hours...the brain-storms...the passion... Biology. Science. Bliss. Working with science at its roots.

Jantabhayaga vinu, Ventaramani vedu konti Bhadragiri Ramadaasa poshaka...

Happy Green Ball. PQR.

Yours "Niratha kara kalitha Navaneetham..." ly
Signing off....

Light... Sun-like

Fluorescent green floors. Green was always her favourite colour. But she still thought the green quite an overdose when she first saw it. But not till today did the crazy beauty of it dawn upon her. She walked up the stairs to get some fresh air, and a little happiness too maybe, from the gallery...open to sky. The gallery of white tables and chairs...of sliding doors and lovely views...the sky and the buildings, the roads and the rain...the gallery of nostalgia, of things that never happened...of things that may or may not happen...of sweet ginger tea...of conversation that would make her laugh, no end. She climbed up the stairs thinking of it all...walking in the darkness...thinking that maybe, the darkness would add to the magic. Just like music does...and then, out of nowhere, a spotlight came on...exactly where her right foot touched the last stair. Gradually, dim yellow lights fell on the fluorescent green...like it was the spark, the stimulus...like a nerve signal...she thought of the irony...the lights led her as she walked... the whole level acknowledging her presence...welcoming her with the light... this wasn't real. This was science fiction. She was in a movie...Like the sun rays were guiding her path...looking around at the empty floor, beautifully lit up, just for her. And then she saw it... the gallery...wet, graced with the rain...keeping people out. She slid the door open, and let the wind blow on her face... More lights...the gallery lit up... dim yellow lights... she walked to the edge of the gallery, the rain drops falling on her... the wet road and the smoke from a building... the music... vidai kodu, pogiren...eeramai vazhgiren.... she smiled. Perhaps the lights were better than the darkness would have been? It was surreal... she walked back into the building, expecting the lights to go out as she walked down the stairs. They didn't. They remained lit. She liked to think of some sort of significance...she wondered if she could have that effect on the people she knew. Walk out, and leave things bright...lit up... atleast for a while. She would never really know. She hoped... don't we all?

The Queensland Brain Institute. Level 7.

The last few days have been lovely. Sometimes you realise that all you really want is to be loved, and to be happy. And when that happiness comes out of making other people happy, its even better. Its divine satisfaction. And of course, having your own desk, Mac computer and a huge pin-up board does add to it too :) Even though that package comes with hours of working with microscopic worms! One can't ask for everything after all!

Silent prayers. Make this last.

Yours "seemingly precious moments..."ly
signing off...

Longing...and Belonging...

Old age is catching on. Or so I feel! I guess Its just the sudden overwhelming heap of responsibilities that are unexpectedly thrust upon you! I spent over an hour shopping the other day. Aah, now you'll think "Girls! Them, and their shopping!"... Nope, it was one hour (or more) of grocery shopping! And frankly, i've never felt more satisfied after a shopping session! In a way, its lousy, because I know that I spent so much time buying tomatoes and apples and tea because of the price reductions, as a result of which alot of comparisons and careful selection had to be done! But in a way, it felt good. Its learning, and growing, in a totally different way. Its moving from buying a packet of tomatoes randomly without caring how much it costs, to looking at all the different varieties of fresh tomatoes, and finally picking the canned tomatoes because they're cheaper, and last longer! See what i mean? I feel like I've aged 5 years in the past 2 months!

Its also falling prey to Murphy's law more than ever. I don't know if I learnt anything from my Murphy incident, but I do know that I ought to have! So I'll try to write this in the shortest way possible. Situation: Div's mobile has zero balance. She can't make calls. She's been wanting to recharge for the past 3 days, but she hasn't had the time! Additionally, Div has exactly 45 cents in her wallet because she hasn't had time (err, or has just been too lazy!) to walk up to the ATM and draw money. Moving on from the minor details, she's been up the whole night in the uni working on an assignment. She takes the first bus in the morning back home at 6.30am, hoping to catch some sleep before her 9.00am lab. She reaches home at 6.45, just to find that the outside mesh-door, which is never locked (and to which she doesn't have keys), is locked. She knows her house-mates would be asleep. She knocks, they cant hear her (there are no door bells in brisbane!). She doesn't have balance to call their cell phones and tell them to open the door. She can't call from a public booth because she has exactly 45 cents in her wallet (and a call from the booth costs 50 cents!). Classic murphy situation! What does she do? She walks up to a 24 hour store a few minutes from her house, and uses her debit card to recharge. She then yells at the recorded message on the phone-network because the goddam thing is not recharging! After finally recharging, she calls roomie 1's cell. No answer. She calls roomie 2's cell. Finally, she picks up! And the outside-door-that-is-never-locked is opened! Div walks into the house, and is just too angry to sleep! Roomie 2 says she didn't lock the outside door, roomie 1 says she didn't lock the outside door. Sleep seems like a more welcome option than listening to 2 people, 1 of whom definitely locked the door (unless one believes in ghosts!), saying they didn't do it. She goes to bed, cursing herself for everything that went wrong, cursing herself for not listening to her mother's "RECHARGE!" cries!

Maybe it could have been worse. Maybe my house could have been in some place where there's no 24 hour store in 5 mins walking distance! Maybe the store could have been one that didnt have recharge cards, or didn't accept debit cards! But I think it was bad enough! Having to put up with so much crap after a sleepless night! Well, life :)

So... as a tribute to all those things and people I'm missing terribly here...

Dear Raniamma - I wash the vessels and clothes, brush the carpet and scrub the stove! You'd be proud of me! Miss u :)

Dear Mom - I'm waiting for the day my food will taste as good as yours...

Dear Pop - I'm realising the value of your hard-earned money...

Dear Kar - You made me cry the first time I was chatting with you after coming to brisbane. Felt good, because i was wondering whether my tear glands had dried up! You have no idea what our converations do to me :)

Dear Vis - I wish we could snuggle up in my bed and watch house on Iris! Miss your hugs and thumb-fights!

Dear Lav - I'd give anything to just have the kind of conversations we have...just once...by the brisbane river...

Dear Nid - I wish your aircel scheme worked for aus too! Everytime i need to make a decision, I hope like crazy that you'd just appear and whisk me away to aunty's shop for corn florentine and a pep talk!

Dear Nit - You're walking beside me each time i'm holding a camera and clicking something absolutely gorgeous...

Dear shrut - I saw a Capt.Jack Sparrow poster in a store here and knew you'd love it. Waiting for the day we'll get crazy again!

Dear Nik - Your "GO HOME NOW" msg the other day did wonders to lift my spirits, even though i spent the whole night in uni! Your msgs somehow have almost always had perfect timing... :)

Dear Nil - Beer's cheaper here than water. Always reminds me of you!

Dear Bharat - I'm probably going through what you went through 4 years back, and I salute you, for living through it when you were much younger than I am now. Do i need to mention the smoke alarm again? ;)

Dear Suk - You're a smart kid...wish you were my sister :) At this point of time I just feel like saying - You're like no one else I know. Don't let petty things break your heart. You're destined for big things in life... you're going to go places.

Dear Jess - I miss your wise-cracks. We should have spent more time together...cracking up and laughing for the silliest of things. We should... sometime in life...

Dear Sand - The signal pathway in my body that usually gets activated and makes me whacky when you're around is currently dormant, or dead. It's up to you to revive it!

Dear Nanya - I was petting a dog here 3 days back. One of those absolutely rare things in my life... thought yoou'd like to know :)

The list could continue... and be endless...but i stop here. Additionally though...

To all those people who chat with me on a daily basis - You have no idea what a difference it makes.

To music - Thanks, for helping me savour the alone-ness, the loneliness...

Finally...

Dear Nivetha - Thanks for giving me hope :) I know now that I can spend the rest of my time here with more laughter and fun and reason than I thought in the beginning :)

Yours " Ajeeb Dastaan hai yeh, kahaan shuru kahaan khatam..."ly
Signing off...

Oopsie Daisies!

We've been having a laugh over small things... I can't exactly say its fun, but i make it a point to laugh my heart out even though the incident wouldn't really call for such a laugh! I guess i'm just trying to inculcate the craziness into the people living with me! Evidently, i haven't been too successful. Anyway, here's a list of the things that brought out a loud loud laugh, or maybe just a smile -

- Cooking day. I told my roomie to grind 4 tomatoes for sabzi. 5 mins later, she declares that something's wrong with the mixie, because the tomatoes aren't liquid yet. Tearing my attention from the onion-chopping, with eyes filled with tears, I turned to her wondering how the hell a brand new mixie could get damaged! And then the bulb came on.., "did u chop the tomatoes?" aah, the golden words were spoken! She realised she'd chucked 4 FULL tomatoes into the mixie! It would take some giant blade to grind that!

- Cooking day again. I'm frying the onions, roomie 1 is cutting veggies, roomie 2 walks in. She opens the tap. The tap comes off! And the water's dripping non-stop! And there was quite a racket before getting the water to stop! Well, we did get the water to stop, but there's still a gaping hole where the tap used to be! The plumber should have fixed by this time today!

- Cooking day again!! The Upma is cooking, and the stove's getting reallly hot! We turn it off, but its still red hot! Aah, the knob's not working! Another half-hour spent on turning the knob clockwise and anticlockwise before the red finally starts fading! We stopped using that particular coil! Sad thing, it was the biggest and the best :( Result? We finished cooking at 12.30 in the night!

- Smoke alarm. The smoke alarm is the maharaja of the house, and we the servants! Each time it comes on, and i stand on a chair and fan it with a newspaper, i can only think of the rajas and the elephant-ear-sized-zari-bordered fans that were used to fan them! Sigh! And of course, i say "tsb, now i know what the hell you meant!" ;)
- When i go to sleep each night, i seem to be thinking of groceries! Do we need to buy milk tomorrow? Are there enough tomatoes and potatoes? Do we need to heat the old rice before eating the fresh rice? Sheesh! I'm sick of it! Someone please convert me back to the person i was! OR, get me a husabnd ;) I'm a full time housewife, part time student, i'm sure i deserve a husaband! Atleast then i wouldn't have to worry about the broken tap and the dripping shower and the milk buying and rent paying and smoke alarm ringing! And no, i do not want to marry a mesthri or contractor! *sneak attack*

- I slept without a sweater one night. It rained the whole goddam day, the day after that! The heavens are spying on me! And i did not have an umbrella! I went back to wearing my sweater. Why cause inconvenience to innocent citizens? :)

- I was so engrossed in staring at the misty windows of the bus that i missed my stop! Of course i promptly got off at the next one and ran back home in the rain! Oh yeah, it was that same long rainy day!

- My high point of the day was the free mars bar that a prof gave out at the end of his lecture (he earlier went around throwing them at different people, apparently explaining a mechanism! And obviously, he didn't think my poor head could bear the weight of the mars bar hitting it, so he didn't throw me one! So we promptly lined up infront of him after the class, and snatched our bars away! Ha!). But then, my high point just changed... my mother just told me that my grand dad told her that my grandparents talk about me on their daily evening walk. Aaah, what bliss :) To be remembered!

Ok, i gotto run to catch the bus!

Yours "Its like writing, and if your can't write, we can never get down to discussing what's written" ly
Signing offf.....

Grey

I just visited a few blogs i usually read, and realised they're not updated either! So i guess we're back to that phase in blog land where people are just too busy, or too bored, to update. I don't have anything in particular either, as always! But hell, dead blogs aren't nice :(

Nothing seems significant enough to go up on the blog! I know i shouldn't be saying this, because my blog title boasts of acknowledging insignificance! I don't know why I don't feel like writing about this beautiful, huge campus, the lovely walks, the river, the fireworks, the swipe cards, or Brisbane as such! Nothing seems to impress! Its not a nice feeling, when nothing is good enough to take your breath away... Its like, your 'expectation meter' suddenly shot up sky high! Maybe there will come a time when excitement will dawn upon this being, and my dark eye will notice the brighter side of things. I'll wait for that day! I swear, if any of you visit me sometime now, I'd be the happiest person on earth ;) and i'd do anything for u! Lol...

Its pretty amazing to realise the value of good company... there were a bunch of people who were always around, who understood every goddam thing you said, and enjoyed the same things you did... and suddenly, the rivers and the blue skies aren't lovely anymore because the people are missing. And even music can't work its charm on you and make your eyes appreciate beauty. A lovely star-lit night with a light breeze and the perfect music playing in your ears, doesn't bring tears to your eyes. You're in constant search of something, that is most likely, non-existent in the near future. You smile so much at strangers, not so much at non-strangers. You see the most beautiful sunset from the 6th level of an amazing building, an empty level with fluorescent green floors, and you're rooted to the spot for a moment... staring at the incredibly straight rays that emanate from a bush of light in all its yellow-ness...and you want that scene to play before your eyes everyday. Will that happen?

So is this all about belonging?

Yours" Well, it does feel pretty cool to swipe cards to enter buildings!"ly
signing off...

Firsts...

I think I've taken a long enough break from blogging! And, it wasn't voluntary ;) First, to the 14th of July, 2008, a toast (well, an imaginary one!), for being the happiest, and the most tiring day in the past few months. Why would i want to offer this toast to a tiring day? Because it is after the most tiring days that you sleep most sound, and most deep :) Anyway, lets all wish my Anna and my Manni a happy happy life ahead! Love you guys!

Now to things more relevant to my present situation. My firsts in Australia.

Smiling, at random strangers, and all the time.
Drinking water straight out of a kitchen tap.
Wearing a Jerkin continuously, ALL the time, for a week (and i'm sure it'll be for longer!)
Shouting out 'Thank you' to bus drivers.
Finding banks tolerable, to the extent of mild liking! (but that does not change the fact that i STILL want the guy i marry to do all the banking later in life!)
Loving ALL the clothes that my mother bought me! (because she had the sense to buy me warm clothes. I on the other hand, was a total idiot! thank God for mothers...)
Walking up and down SLOPES. Its like you hike everyday!
Handling extreme courtesy, and niceness from great people.
Seeing SO MANY chinese people in one place. You get confused, start wondering if you're in Australia or China! No offence to any chinese though!
A thought...on how marriage should eventually work out :) Yes, a couple gave me the feeling, recently. It feels good to see people like that.

I could go on... :)

Missing everyone back home... love you guys!

Yours "Jahaan bhi le jaye zindagi..." ly
Signing off...